


Do You want Truth, or Something Beautiful?

by karrenia_rune



Category: Gargoyles
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-12
Updated: 2012-11-12
Packaged: 2017-11-18 11:56:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/560803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karrenia_rune/pseuds/karrenia_rune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On motivations, subtle shades of truth, and projecting an ever confident image; however it's an image that leaves everyone else guessing; a game at  which David Xanatos has become a master at, but it is sometimes gratifying to have an appreciative audience.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do You want Truth, or Something Beautiful?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ede](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ede/gifts).



Disclaimer: Gargoyles belongs to Disney and Buena Vista Television. It is not mine.

"Do You want Truth, or Something Beautiful? 

 

The view from the top floor of the Eyerie Building was awe-inspiring, and panoramic, and breath-taking, but for the man who stood before those steel-reinforced, expensive and bullet-proof windows he was not there to admire the view, but rather to consider his options, and his trajectory. To say that his trajectory to reach this particular phase in his life was nothing short of meteoric would be an understatement.

A competitor had once made the mistake of asking David Xanatos the one question that not only would get said unfortunate laughed out of the room, but also would assure that that individual would never have the guts to do so ever again. 

Yes, he was well aware that he was arrogant, ambitious, and probably was probably richer than sin, but really now, would he ever choose to live his life any other way. The answer to that, of course, was a resounding no.  
In fact, early on in his dealings with Detective Elisa Maza and the new allies, the Manhattan Clan of Gargoyles, he recalled telling her that his multi-national business encompassed more real-world territory than most small countries.

As he thought that over for a moment and realized that somewhere along the way somehow it had become more than just an irresistible drive to achieve, to be the best; now that he had achieved more success than even he had ever dreamed of. 

Now, what kept him going was playing the game, purely and simply because the thought of losing of giving up was simply not in his nature. 

One might say that it was the height of arrogance to exert that much control over anyone or anything, others might say that he was a tad obsessive, and they might be right, to some extent, but there would always be so much more to it than that.

Up until recently, the only person in David Xanatos’ life who had ever truly understood his unstoppable and undeniable zeal to strive, and have the edge had been his aide-de-camp, Owen Burnett.

The added bonus that not even he could have anticipated was that Owen was much more than he appeared. Hell, perhaps if he wanted to do, he could very well have run the world, “That is if I wanted to run the world.”

“Up until recently, Sir, you have not so much as hinted to any ambitions in that direction.” Owen’s voice was as ever measured, precise and droll. 

“Owen, I was just in the midst of contemplating the vicissitudes of success versus failure, and I’ve come to the conclusion that I would far prefer the former to the latter.”

“Just as you say, Sir,” replied Owen, but with a wink that one might have missed if one did not look closely enough, Owen remarked under his breath, “But might I suggest that taking over the world is much less difficult in execution that it is to administer it in the aftermath.”

“Hmm, in strictly business terms, it would not be cost-effective,” remarked Xanatos, “I wonder if Napoleon Bonaparte ever thought, and in the midst of his world-conquering, land-devouring endeavors if administering all of that hard-fought for land was a damn sight harder than fighting the war in the first place.”

“I would not know, but if I may say so, I imagine he would be right.” 

“A war? What war? David what are you up to now?” Fox demanded.

“Fox, my dear, rest assured that Owen and I were merely speaking in abstract terms. He folded his arms over his chest and sighed. “I’ve considered the mater, and if I were to start a war; rest assured I’d end up on the winning side.”

“You always do, David,” Fox said a bit mollified, but with a wink and a playful swat at his shoulders. “I expect to be kept in the loop at all times.”

“Duly noted,” replied David.

“Speaking of which are you certain that you wanted to send that letter to Detective Bluestone? I’m not certain that it would be entirely wise to add fuel to the fire, “Fox remarked. “He’s a conspiracy theorist when he isn’t being a nosy detective. I should think that you’d want to do exactly the opposite of encouraging him.”

David turned around and sat down at the swivel chair, lacing his fingers into roughly the shape of an equilateral triangle. And then reached into one of his desk drawers, and removing a small gold pin embossed with a stylized pyramid with one staring emblazoned dead center of it.  
David Xanatos allowed a thin but smug smile to come to his mouth, and then added: 

“It’s been said, although for the life of me, I can’t recall just now who did, that everybody wants to rule the world. Is it so wrong to believe that I might be better qualified for the job than others?”

Fox, her momentary apprehension relieved that the danger was past for the moment, managed to regain her considerable aplomb, sharing his wicked grin and tossed her head back, “David, I have to come to know you far too well, and I recognize that look. You’re up to something.”

“I am always up to something, which is causing no amount of distress to our Lovely Detective Maza and her partner, Mr. Bluestone. However, I have long since made my peace with that. Also, I think I relish playing the game to ever give it up.”

Fox smiled wickedly and leaned forward until she was nearly in his lap and tugged him towards her, with her hands entwined around his neck, and began to passionately kissing him, which he soon returned. Her long red hair fell down like a red velvet curtain, and he ran his hands through it, relishing the combination of softness and hardness that she seemed to give off. “Then let the pieces fall where they may.”

“May they, indeed,” he murmured into the curtain of her long red hair.

Owen, apparently forgotten, coughed politely and excused himself from the room, however, neither of the pair seemed to hear him or acknowledge his departure.

He allowed himself one small sigh and muttered. “It would seem the game is afoot, but it is anyone’s guess just whom is hunting whom.” 

At that precise instant, when he had begun the long descent of the spiraling stairwell and down to the main working areas, he halted and tiled his head to one side, as if thinking matters over, with his lips pursed. 

Unless one knew what to look for, or had been a proverbial fly on the wall no one could have detected the moment when Owen’s customary calm, elegant mask slipped for just a fraction of a second.  
In the blink of an eye, a cunning and mischievous grin took its place. “If anyone had asked me, I’d lay my wager on the boss, no questions asked.” 

And in the space of time it would take one to inhale and exhale, the face of Owen’s alter-ego, Puck, disappeared, but if it was anything like regret, it there and gone again, as if it had never been. The stoic, every-day-man, had been restored, it was one he had long accustomed himself too, despite everything that had happened and would be likely to happen. Yes, it was calm and cool, and collected, but much like the surface of an ocean; so much went on beneath the surface. Owen nodded to himself, once, then twice, and thought, “Yes, that is as it should be.’ With that he continued on down the stairs.


End file.
